Yellow Field Journal
by telegenicspade
Summary: Playing through Pokemon Yellow with a distinctly cyberpunk interpretation of events
1. Chapter 1

He starts awake, the game controller slipping from his hands and clattering to the bare floor of his second-story bedroom. It's an antiquated videogame system hooked imperfectly to a salvaged old CRT, but playing it allows him the rare opportunity to relax when he's dreading the big day.

Today.

"Okay," he murmurs to himself. "It's time to get going."

Lurching, deliberately stalling, he strolls over to his secondhand desktop and checks the torrent. There's one available file, a single-use instance of some GMO treatment. He fabs it, places it into a pocket of his pre-packed hiking backpack, slings the bag over both shoulders.

No more putting this off. Quickly, lurching and leaping past the broken and weakened steps, he makes his way downstairs. A glance at the cracked tv; some coming of age movie, kids leaving home. Perfect. He strides over to his mother, whose eyes are shining as she flicks her gaze between his face and the television.

She gathers herself with a deep breath, murmurs "Right." More boldly, she continues, "All boys leave home someday. Says so on tv."

Grim smiles. A shared moment.

"The Professor is looking for you. Next door."

Her smile fails. His does, too. He nods mutely, and walks outside.

The sunlight is glaring, blinding, a stark contrasting light against the untreated wood of the Professor's Pallet Town. He turns left, and takes a measured stroll next door. It's late, too late; the Professor hates to wait. Might even have left home for the morning (his heart flutters at the thought of possible delay, even with the promise of later punishment).

There's a young girl in a filthy dress playing in the lot between his home and the Professor's. "I'm raising mons, too!" she exclaims, a wild gleam in her eye. "When they get strong, they... they can protect me!"

He avoids her eyes, keeps moving. Let her have the delusions while she can. She'll be ten one day. Time to face the music.

He ducks in the front entrance of the Professor's communal home. "Hey, Jack," a Sister says. "Oh, sorry, I mean... You haven't chosen yet, have you? Hey, whoever you are. My brother is out at Grandpa's lab."

She's always been kind, if a bit inconsiderate. He'll miss her. He nods, and leaves without another word - nobody enters the lab unless they work there, or the Professor is present.

Straight out, then, and to the Laboratory - the largest building in the commune, and the most vital. The seat of government, the local defense unit, the mon development center, home to the fabricators for mon and consumable alike. It's the only building in town made of true brick and treated wood instead of the plentiful pallet board. He takes a deep breath, strides in as confidently as he can -

\- and discovers nothing but a group of acolytes, of the Professor's Aides. And the Rival.

His Rival.

"Gramps isn't here," the Rival sneers. "He said to come and claim my Pokemon, but he's gone out searching. Said you were late."

Seething, churning, frustrating rage. Where is the Professor? Why does the old man play these... games, these immature games? He storms back outside, nearly running down the morbidly obese town crier in his fury. Oblivious, the crier begins to expound about the joys of technology that the Professor has brought to The Pallet Town; the fabricators, the ability to deconstruct and store items and living mons alike as their constituent data packets, the memes that made possible the war and the new world. He's heard the crier's spiel before, and certainly doesn't have time to stop now.

Today is the day, and the Professor can't be bothered to wait.

Somehow, that's the last straw. He's out. He's leaving this commune - not as a pilgrim, not for the glory of the Professor or to discover new genetic memes for the research or safety of the community - just leaving. Just gone.

Purposefully, with measured steps, he walks to the town border, marked by a fence of rocks and the tall hedge of swaying, dying grass where the Professor's services stop trying to beat back nature. A deep breath, a foot forward -

And a booming, commanding voice rings out, halting his progress.

"That was close, my boy! Wild packet monsters, Pokemon, live in this tall grass!" the Professor shouts, a jovial yet mocking reproof for the boy that almost rebelled. As though to underscore the point, a particularly vicious instance of a feral mon parts the vegetation and leaps at the Professor - a dirty, golden-furred rodent, oddly bloated in that way starving creatures sometimes are, with shining red glands glistening on each side of its maw. It leaps at the Professor -

\- who calmly and efficiently throws one of his signature round, crimson-and-chrome pocket fabricators at the creature. In a flash of red light, the rodent is scanned and deconstructed, shocked into enough stillness that the process can compile on the first try. The indicator light on the activation button flashes once, then falls still.

The Professor grins widely, mockingly. "All right! I caught it!"

As though the outcome were ever in doubt.

The Professor claps one hand over the boy's shoulder. "Whew," the Professor huffs, "that was scary. A Pokemon can appear anytime in tall grass like this, my boy. You'll need one of your own to fabricate if you're to survive the pilgrimage. For your protection, you understand." The Professor mimes an epiphany, snaps his fingers. "I know! Come with me."

With no further warning, the Professor drags Him by the shoulder back through town, parading him past what few citizens have ventured out during the blistering early afternoon and straight back into the Laboratory where the Rival still waits.

"Gramps!" his Rival exclaims. "I'm fed up with waiting on this twerp!"

The Professor cuts the Rival off with a sharp hand gesture, then affects surprise. "Grandson? Why are you here already? I said for you to come by later... Ah, whatever! Just... wait there."

The Professor turns to Him. "It's time. Today, you leave our commune and venture out into the world on your Pilgrimage. What name will you present to that world?"

He has put a lot of thought into this moment. "Yellow," he says. "My name will be Yellow."

The Professor smiles. "Look, Yellow. Do you see that ball I've placed on the table? It's a portable fabrication unit, commonly called a pocket ball or mon ball. It contains a map and corresponding genetic meme packet to flash-fabricate a single Packet Monster, sometimes called a Pokemon. On deconstruction, it will replace that map with an updated version such that the creature you fabricate will always be contiguous with its previous instance - provided that the specimen isn't so damaged as to no longer be viable. It is yours; you may have it."

Yellow continues to stare mutely; the Professor's face darkens. "Go on! Take it!"

The Rival interrupts. "Hey, Gramps! What about me?"

Rage momentarily rules the Professor's countenance. "Be patient, child. I'll give you one later."

The Professor turns back to Yellow and smiles. "That reminds me; this boy here, my grandson, is your designated Rival for this pilgrimage, is he not? It will be his duty to compete with you, to test you, to break your resolve if he can. As a member of the Family, he naturally holds a certain advantage over you; in recompense, you will be permitted to select his outsider name as well. What is his name, again?"

Yellow has put hours of thought into this moment. Initially, he had intended to name his Rival something vulgar and childish, both to undermine the boy's efforts and repay him for years of teasing and bullying...

But, in a sudden moment of compassion, Yellow relents.

"Gary. His name will be Gary."

The Professor nods and offers what is, perhaps, the first genuine smile Yellow has ever seen on the man's face. Emboldened, Yellow smiles back before making his way to the table and reaching for the fabricator.

Gary shouts, "No way! No! Yellow, if I'm to test you, I want this Pokemon for my own! I won't be cheated of my birthright just because the Professor likes you best!" The Rival rushes forward, shoves Yellow to the side and snatches the red and chrome device in one frantic movement.

The Professor's shouts are deafening. "Gary! What are you doing?!"

"Gramps, I want this one! I won't let you give this bastard an edge over me! I'm your grandson, a brother of the Professor!"

"But, I..." the Professor's expression softens. "Oh, all right then. That mon is yours."

The world drops out from under Yellow, an open pit where his stomach used to be. As if from a distance, he hears the Professor explaining that Gary was to have one anyway, that it shouldn't matter.

But it does. And Yellow knows it. It makes all the difference in the world. Yellow won't be sent on pilgrimage with a high-grade packet. He'll get a leftover, a feral, an instance of a wild packet that was bred instead of fabricated. Corrupted.

Weak.

He's snapped out of the fearful reverie by the Professor calling his new name. "Yellow, come over here, son." Yellow walks slowly, numbly away from the solid oak laboratory table - and back to the Professor.

"Yellow, this is the Pokemon I caught earlier. You may take it. I caught it in the wild, and it's not tame yet. I call this strain Pikachu, but you may nickname your instance, if you prefer...?" The Professor makes it a question. Yellow shakes his head quietly; he's not up to nicknames right now. He can barely think straight - this... _wild rat_... is practically a death sentence, and they all know it.

Blood pounds in Yellow's ears as the Professor brings the ceremony to a close. "The Pikachu can battle other wild mon, should need arise. Proceed to the next town, and search the local market for further instruction. Gary here will be just ahead of you, harrowing the way. Make haste, and bring us good fortune, Yellow of Pallet Town."

Yellow turns to leave, but Gary seizes his arm like a vice. "Wait, _Yellow_ ," he hisses mockingly. "Let's check out our new mons! I'll end this for you early, and spare us both the misery of a protracted journey waiting for you to fail."

Gary depresses the activation button on his fabricator and throws the unit to the ground to keep his body from interfering with the red flare of the nano units firing up. With impossible speed, the crimson cloud assembles muscles and cells, layered and constructed to form a squat, dog-like creature with a lush coat and unnaturally elongated ears. Yellow fumbles with his own unit, limply dropping the sphere even as his... _Pikachu_... begins fabrication. The rodent has less mass, and finishes fabbing just ahead of the dog. Yellow nudges it forward harshly with one foot.

The Pikachu requires no further prompting. It leaps forward with a growl; the dog mon attempts a simple tackle, and all are startled to see the Pikachu respond with what appears to be small-scale lightning erupting from those red glands outside its upper jaw. The two creatures give and take in quick, brutal bursts of physical force, growls, whipping tails and blinding electrical discharges. The battle is vicious, but the outcome is never really in question; the dog is capable of brute violence, but Yellow's mon is unexpectedly capable of bioelectric generation on a lethal scale. All too soon, the bitter fighting ends.

The Pikachu is gasping for breath; the canine is unconscious and bleeding heavily.

Gary retrieves his fabricator, muttering about being tricked into selecting the wrong mon; a red glow begins to deconstruct the injured pup. Yellow moves to do the same with his monster, then reconsiders. He pulls a length of rope from his pack, instead, and fashions a short leash.

A defiant look at Gary, a shorter glance to the Professor, and Yellow boasts: "This is the only instance this mon will ever fabricate."

Gary stares in mingled hatred and confusion; the Professor merely nods.

Yellow collects the customary winners' fee, turns, and drags the wounded Pikachu down the hall, out the doors, and away from the Laboratory without further ado. The whole commune seems to fill the streets as Yellow proudly, stubbornly drags his wild mon through the walking paths and past residences, up to the grass and boulders that serve as the border of The Pallet Town.

Yellow doesn't spare a single glance as he and the Pikachu disappear into the wild fields.

Only when the last shack disappears from easy sight behind the untamed sea of vegetation does Yellow calmly set his first camp, curl up in his pup tent, and begin to cry. He doesn't notice that the Pikachu, already partially recovered, seems just a bit larger than it was this morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Yellow wakes in a field of waving, wild grass. The Pikachu sleeps restlessly, its paws scrabbling against the ground in anxious dreams.

He breaks down the tent, eats a protein bar, packs his equipment and kicks the rodent awake. Squinting, Yellow turns his eyes to the rising sun, gauges the direction he needs to go to reach the nearest settlement, and takes off at a slow hike. Soon, he and the Pikachu have passed the wide corridor of rock fences that mark the outskirts of the Professor's influence, and come upon the ruins of the old roads. Much of the pathway is jagged, with large blocks of crumbling asphalt forming treacherous ledges that would as soon break Yellow's ankle as allow him purchase. The pair follow the grass instead, using the overgrown weeds as a guide to pathways where the asphalt has crumbled enough to allow for safer passage.

Yellow quickly comes to a battered sign, but as he leans in to decipher the spraypainted scrawling a wild mon attacks from behind. Yellow tastes dirt, but as he falls he releases his grip on the Pikachu. The monsters face off.

The offending beast is about one foot tall and six inches long, with another six inches of weirdly curling tail. The base animal was clearly a lab rat or pet mouse, but the packet mods have introduced a bizarre lilac patterning of the coat and unnaturally enlarged incisors. The monster's teeth protrude grotesquely from its jaw, forcing its lips apart giving it the appearance of a constant, petulant smirk. The whiskers are fused into single, solid spikes.

It's pretty low-hazard, as feral mons go.

The Pikachu begins to whip its tail, but Yellow shouts at it to shock the wild monster with its thunder instead. Yellow is delighted to find that, through chance or cooperative intent, the Pikachu obliges. It takes only two zaps to fell the creature, which barely manages a perfunctory lunge of a tackle before succumbing to injury.

Chest heaving, shaking with adrenaline, Yellow turns to examine the unfinished wooden sign. In green spraypaint, someone has written:

"ROUTE ONE: PALLET TOWN - VIRIDIAN CITY"

Yellow's never left the commune before, but he's heard tales of the green shantytown by the woods. Never guessed that it was so close.

He and the Pikachu continue their hike, and within a mile they meet a stranger - a man in a suit, coated in dust but beaming with false cheer. "Good evening!" the stranger calls. "I work at the Poke Mart in Viridian City. It's a convenient shop with all the prefabbed supplies you could want; have a sample of our product." The salesman shoves a prefabbed bottle of the same cheap GMO treatment from yesterday's torrent into Yellow's hands; the dingy label reads "Potion" under a crudely drawn logo. Yellow nods uncertainly at the strange man, and continues his hike. As he walks away, Yellow hears the man begin to pace again, kicking up clouds of dust as he waits patiently for more errant foot traffic.

For the better part of a day, Yellow hikes carefully past two more ledges of treacherous asphalt rubble, picking his way through open fields of spotty tall grass without incident. He passes only one more traveler, a strange but harmless fellow hiding among the grass who lectures Yellow on the advantages offered by sliding and jumping down the asphalt slopes at key points. It's useful information, but hardly of any benefit going uphill, and Yellow continues on his path without much conversation.

Finally, just as the sun is beginning to dim on the horizon, Yellow passes a boulder border marking the edge of Viridian territory. It's no shantytown at all, but a real city to rival or surpass all of Pallet's luxuries. True to its name, the neighboring commune is a well-built town of high-quality houses tinted a strange shade of green. Yellow picks out the sign for the market by comparing the crude logo to that of his 'free sample' bottle, and makes a beeline for the shopping center. Another crude sign marks the path with "TRAINER TIPS" warning of the inherit limits some packet monsters suffer from after repeatedly attacking. Yellow makes a personal note of this; he's been leaning on the Pikachu to generate electrical currents, and he's not sure what limits the creature might suffer from. It'd be a shame to discover those limits mid-battle.

Yellow passes through an ordered barrier of piled asphalt, begins again to walk to the Poke Mart... and reconsiders. He's free, finally free, for the first time in his young life. Maybe...

Maybe Yellow doesn't have to go back.

He veers left instead, taking the least-travelled path - past a pond where a fat man naps behind a hedge, past a grove of trees and out of the town proper onto some sort of hiking trail lined by more of that tall, wild grass that's been so pervasive since Yellow left The Pallet Town. The trail seems better maintained, here, and Yellow's just beginning to feel confident in his new explorations when another mon attacks.

It's a monkey, this time, a white-furred ball of a monkey with an ugly, piggish snout and three digits on each of its double-jointed limbs. It only gets one scratch in on the Pikachu before succumbing to a complete loss of limb control and electrocution burns, but that scratch is _vicious._ Yellow considers using some of the "free sample" on the Pikachu, decides to save it for a more dire emergency. He drags his pet mon onward through the grass. The Pikachu resists slightly, its ratty ears tucked down against its scalp, but the two pass through another asphalt barrier and find a well-kempt brick road waiting on the other side.

The pair follow the brick road to a dead end, slide down another treacherous asphalt ledge into a tangle of yet more weeds bordered by a small pond, and catch sight of some sort of complex not too far off. It's an imposing, industrial sort of building marked with a logo Yellow has never seen before. A well-made sign reads "POKEMON LEAGUE: FRONT GATE."

Yellow hesitates, then turns around. This seems like less of a good idea than it did half an hour ago, and dark will fall soon. He slips down another incline, onto another brick pathway leading back to Viridian, and begins the trek back. A young man accosts him on the way back into town, babbling about the 'Poke Balls' at Yellow's waist and raving at the joyous idea of being able to sojourn with one's own captive mons at will.

Yellow attempts to scout the North end of town instead, only to be shouted down by an old man who lies drunk and incoherent in the center of the main path. The elderly vagabond is incoherently demanding coffee from stranger and friend alike, shouting about his ownership of the public walkway and need to sober up with a cup of caf; nobody can pass until he has what he wants. A young woman is attempting to calm him and apologize to Yellow simultaneously, nervously brushing her threadbare sundress clean as she edges away from the older fellow.

Yellow decides it would be best to turn around and search out the Poke Mart after all.

Night has fallen, and though the Mart remains open, Yellow elects to erect his pup tent on the front sidewalk and set the Pikachu out to guard him through a restless nights' sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey!"

Yellow starts awake. His pup tent is shaking under the violent onslaught of a shopkeep's foot. Dawn hasn't broken yet, but the sky glows purple and orange over the green town.

"Hey! Hey, kid!" the shopkeep shouts. "Hey! You came from Pallet Town?"

Yellow isn't sure, but he thinks he says "Muzzawp?"

The clerk seems to take this as an affirmation. "You know Professor Oak, right?"

"Mawp."

"His order came in. Will you take it to him? I don't want to keep a guy like that waiting."

The sales clerk doesn't wait for a response before shoving an awkwardly large parcel through the tent flap, spinning on one heel, and racing inside the Mart.

Yellow rubs his eyes, checks on the Pikachu (still sleeping, probably hungry), then stumbles out of his tent and into the green Poke Mart. He walks up to the counter, blinks twice, and meets the shopkeep's eyes. The man seems nervous.

Yellow opens his mouth to ask a question, and is promptly preempted by a cheerful, "Okay! Say hi to Professor Oak for me!"

Yellow blinks again, shakes his head, and replies, "I just-"

"Okay! Say hi to Professor Oak for me!"

"But I-"

Beads of perspiration form on the clerk's head as he grits his teeth and insistently incants, "Okay! Say hi! To Professor Oak! For me!"

Yellow squints, turns and follows the strange man's gaze. In the corner of the shop, a nondescript customer is pretending to read a paper while furtively watching Yellow's exchange. The spy is wearing a black jumpsuit with a large monogrammed 'R' across the chest, a black navy-style hat, and a simple belt with a large brass buckle. He is the very picture of subtlety. He notices Yellow watching him, and says, "This shop finally has some Potions in stock."

Yellow nods slowly, backs away from the counter, and promptly runs into another customer, who says "This shop sells a lot of Paralyze Heals."

Yellow leaves the shop without further conversation or purchases.

Outside, the sun is rising, and despite the danger and setbacks, Yellow feels a thrill of promise. He's going to return to Pallet Town. He has a parcel for the Professor; it's large, and clearly important. Viridian locals threatened him upon taking possession of it. Perhaps this is the entirety of his pilgrimage, then? Could this parcel be important enough to warrant a place in the commune?

Yellow decides it's possible.

He breaks camp and sets off at a brisk pace, then looks back to check on the Pikachu. The creature seems to be frowning, if that's even possible; one sharp ear twitches uneasily. On the next row of houses, just before town border, Yellow notices a free veterinary clinic for adopted pets, modified or otherwise. He knows that such institutions are typical in communities outside of Pallet Town, though the Professor frowns on such activity in his own community. Pallet Town is built around the concept of sustainability, self-reliance, and reliance on the Professor. Domiciles are built from reclaimed wood, and most furnishings are hand-fashioned. Only the Professor supplies modernization to his subjects.

Yellow glances at the Pikachu, then back at the Pokemon Health Center, and sighs.

He drags the feral monster through the front door of the local vet's office. Two other patrons are present; one lounges on the couch, looking disinterested. Another man waits at the admissions counter, ready to helpfully explain to Yellow that free clinics such as this can be found in _every_ town ahead of this one on the road north, free of charge. Yellow suspects that the man is poking fun at him - how does everyone in this city know that Yellow comes from the Pallet Town?

The floor nurse sits behind a chipped yet polished desk next to a genetically modified, four-foot tall monstrosity of pale pink flesh and egglike protrusions. "Welcome to our Pokemon Center!" she enthuses. "We heal your Pokemon back to perfect health!"

Almost without prompting, the Pikachu limps and leaps onto the countertop. The nurse places it on a large scanner bed, where a similar cloud of red-glowing nano units to those in Yellow's portable fabricator surround and scan the mon. Yellow hands over his fabrication ball, and the nurse plugs it into an appropriate port at the front of the scanner. The cloud pulses several times, and Yellow can see the Pikachu's flesh reconfiguring as the fabricator bots reset damaged portions of its body to the presets saved in the portable unit.

The nanobots recede into vents on each side of the scanner bed, and the nurse turns to Yellow. "Here you go," she intones. "Your packet monster is fighting fit." She grins wildly before adding, "We hope to see you again!"

Yellow grips the Pikachu's leash and makes tracks out the sliding doors on the opposite end of the lobby. He has to get out of this town.

The door to the health clinic opens directly onto the path out of Viridian, fortunately, and Yellow makes good time moving past the city borders and back into open grassland and ruined roads. He decides its time to put the asphalt trick to the test.

Yellow and the Pikachu approach the first crumbling ledge and enter a controlled slide together, Yellow spreading his feet as though surfing and the Pikachu scrabbling for footholds. They collapse at the bottom together, Yellow laughing hysterically and the Pikachu curled up against him making a high-pitched whine.

The noise the Pokemon emits worries Yellow until the creature begins to nuzzle his leg. Small sparks of static pop against Yellow's jeans, and he is suddenly reminded that the packet mods were initially developed to create animals that understand and work with human counterparts.

He scratches the Pikachu's ears, then hauls himself to his feet. A quick tug of the rope leash, and they're off again to Pallet Town.

The pair hop and slide down four more blacktop levees in quick succession, crossing about a mile before coming to their first patch of unavoidable wild grass. By early afternoon, Yellow and the Pikachu reach the fields on the outskirts of Oak's commune.

Yellow is strolling comfortably through the last field before Pallet territory when a feral mon attacks. He actually recognizes this one; townsfolk call them Pidgeys, after the old bird species they bred from. It's a large bird, about the size of the Pikachu, but otherwise unremarkable in appearance: a large-eyed dove. Yellow's unimpressed.

Until it cups its wings and flaps forward with enough air pressure to knock the Pikachu to the ground.

Pikachu rolls to its feet, hissing and spitting both with rage and electrical discharges. "Shock it!" Yellow commands.

The Pikachu obeys.

Feathers fly from the wings of the wild bird as it thrashes amid the grass. It grows still, and the sounds of nature momentarily fade to silence. Yellow sits, then lies back. The Pikachu crawls to him and lays its head across his lap. The sun beats shines across Yellow's face, and he decides that Oak's Parcel can wait one more night.

Only a mile from home, Yellow and his Pikachu strike an early camp.

They eat dove that night.


	4. Chapter 4

ENTRY 4

Yellow stretches.

Golden sunlight shines through the fabric and door of his tent. The Pikachu snores softly beside him - it crawled inside at some point during the night.

It's a beautiful, early morning in the fields just outside the Pallet Town. Yellow considers a quick breakfast, but decides that he's wasted enough time. He can eat his next meal at home.

The Pikachu exits the tent and curls up nearby as Yellow quietly breaks camp. The folding of the shelter, the repacking of sleeping bag and clothing, the collection of bits of trash from prefab food - all of it is almost meditative. Though it's only the fourth day, Yellow's pilgrimage seems to have lasted a lifetime. He stares into the bright blue sky, feeling a sudden trepidation at the thought of returning to the Professor so soon.

The thought of a warm breakfast with his mother stirs Yellow to action. He bends and grasps the Pikachu's leash; together, they commence their final hike back into Pallet Town.

Yellow and the Pikachu pass through the corridor of boulders that marks the main thoroughfare into Oak's commune. On a whim, Yellow veers right. It only seems proper to visit his mother before proclaiming victory to the Professor.

He knocks on the untreated wood that frames his mother's front door before pulling the Pikachu inside. Much is as he left it, of course; Yellow's mother sits at the same table, watching what looks to be the same coming-of-age movie about... children walking the railroad tracks? Yellow's not really sure. He crosses the front of the table, and takes a seat next to his mother.

With tears in her eyes, Yellow's mother draws him in for a hug. She's relieved, but he's still on pilgrimage and so she plays her part.

"Yellow," she says with a mock sternness, "if you drive your Pokémon too hard, they'll dislike you. You should take a rest." She sets to applying tinctures and ointments to the Pikachu, the only participation custom permits her in Yellow's trials.

"Your Pokémon is looking great!" she enthuses. "Take care, now!" She nods at her son, biting her lower lip.

He hugs his mother gratefully, whispers "I'll be home soon," and takes his leave. Screw breakfast. Suddenly, Yellow can't wait to see the Professor.

This journey can't possibly end soon enough for Yellow's tastes.

He crosses town square as quickly as he can with the Pikachu scrabbling behind. The filthy little girl is playing in the streets again, babbling about raising her packet monsters to protect her. Yellow avoids her gaze and powers forward.

The Laboratory looms, a partial brick facade covering its reclaimed wooden frame.

Yellow pushes through the black vinyl doors that serve as the Professor's grand entryway. Three aides mill about the lobby, wandering aimlessly past bookshelf after bookshelf. Yellow ignores them all and strides between the purposeful gap left in the shelving, the makeshift hallway into the Professor's presence. He walks past the heavy table, stands before the Professor, and makes firm eye contact.

The hiking pack falls to the wooden floor with a dull thud. Carefully, never breaking eye contact, Yellow withdraws Oak's Parcel from his backpack and presents it to the Professor.

"Oh, Yellow!" Oak says, as though the boy has suddenly and astonishingly appeared before his eyes. "How is my old Pokémon?"

He doesn't give Yellow a chance to reply before continuing, "Well, it seems to like you a lot. You must be talented as a Pokémon trainer!"

The Professor allows his eyes to drift down to the parcel. "What? You have something for me?" He lays one hand across the outstretched package, runs a finger over the battered brown paper. Carefully, almost reverently, Oak slides his hands beneath the parcel and lifts it from Yellow's outstretched hands.

Yellow has delivered Oak's Parcel.

"Ah!" the Professor exclaims. "This must be the custom nanofabrication unit I ordered! Thanks, Yellow!"

Yellow beams, grinning despite himself. The Professor... is grateful. The pilgrimage is over. Yellow has passed.

The Professor begins to turn away, then stops abruptly. "By the way, Yellow..." he murmurs. "I must ask you to do something for me."

The world shatters around Yellow as the vinyl doors in the front of the Laboratory slam open with a loud, plastic slap. Gary's voice pierces the moment, a shrill shout of "Gramps!" The boy stomps across the wooden floor.

Yellow and Oak maintain their silence, never looking away from each other as Gary crashes his way across the building.

"Gramps! Gramps, my Pokémon has grown stronger! Check it out!" The rival swings his head from side to side excitedly, looking from Yellow to the Professor and back again.

The silence stretches on as Gary's smile fades.

Like the snapping of a rubber band, Oak says, "Ah, Gary. Good timing."

A beat passes before the Professor continues, "I needed to ask _both_ of you to do something for me."

He nods at the heavy table, the one Yellow's packet monster had resided on before Gary stole it. "On the desk there is my invention, Pokedex. It automatically records build data on packet monsters you encounter, forming a mobile database of feral packets. It's a high-tech encyclopedia of pretested genetic modifications, with enough flash memory for 150 distinct genetic memes built in."

Professor Oak straightens, clears his throat. "Yellow and Gary! Take these with you! This will be your task," he says to Yellow, "and your challenge," he turns to Gary, "throughout the course of this pilgrimage. To make a complete guide of all the Pokémon in the world... was my dream. I'm too old to catalogue these feral instances myself. I want you two to fulfill my dream, to ensure the safety and sustainability of our community."

He looks imperiously at the boys for a pregnant moment, then barks, "Get moving, you two! This is a great undertaking in Pokémon history!"

Gary breaks first, nodding enthusiastically. "All right, Gramps! Leave it all to me! I hate to say it, Yellow, but I don't need you for this. I'll borrow a town map from my sister - you won't need one, Yellow, I'll make sure and let her know that."

Gary chuckles, turns on one heel, and sets off for home.

Yellow stands unfeeling before Professor Oak. The pilgrimage is... impossible. A death sentence, as surely as the gift of the Pikachu was.

"Pokémon around the world wait for you, Yellow," the Professor murmurs. Startled, Yellow snaps his head around to find a small but encouraging smile on the older man's face.

Tightening his grip on Pikachu's leash, Yellow exits the Laboratory.


	5. Chapter 5

ENTRY 5

Yellow's eyes ache.

It's late morning, and the sky is overcast. Yellow's just awakening in the same field he's slept in for the last three days. He's only an hour's hike from Pallet, but after the disappoint of the… _Pokédex_ affair, Yellow simply couldn't face his mother again.

He hasn't said goodbye. Hasn't called, hasn't checked in. He's been parked in this field for half a week now, alternately crying and caring for the Pikachu. The animal's been amazingly responsive – almost like a dog, really – but Yellow can tell that it's growing restless.

Much as he hates to admit it, Yellow's growing restless, too.

It's hard to admit it, but he has to move on or he'll never be allowed back home.

Yellow rubs his eyes again, wipes a hand over his greasy face, and decides that this is the morning he resumes the pilgrimage. He glances down at his Pikachu, trying to gauge the creature's mood.

It frowns at him, twitches its left ear.

He begins to break down the tent, to collect trash and pack up the various protein bars and water filters that make up the bulk of his and the Pikachu's nutritional intake. The mon becomes increasingly animated, darting around Yellow's ankles and sparking in anticipation of their hike. When Yellow finally lifts its leash, the rodent joyfully leaps into the air and sets fire to a nearby shrub with a small bolt of thunder.

They follow much the same route that Yellow took earlier this week, trudging through swaying grass and crumbled roadway in turn, slowly advancing toward the peculiar town of Viridian. The salesman is still waiting along their path a few hours in, looking only a little the worse for wear. When he recognizes Yellow approaching, the man cuts his sales pitch short. "We also carry Poke Balls, for catching Pokémon," he informs Yellow hopefully.

There's little to say, and Yellow continues to hike without response.

An hour later, the Pikachu gives a start and runs sparking into the tall grass. There's no danger; just the same harmless adventurer from the other day, hiding in the grass and handing out cryptic advice about sliding down the miniature cliffs of crumbled blacktop.

This route really attracts the wackadoos.

Late evening is beginning to dim the world when Yellow finally arrives at Viridian. The first person he encounters (a guy he met earlier in the week? Yellow can't recall) loudly admires the Pokéball fabrication unit at Yellow's waist, announces to anyone within earshot that Yellow is carrying packet monsters, and ruminates on the convenience of said animals as Yellow tries desperately to sneak away. Yellow remembers him now. The first time, this was strange enough; now Yellow's certain that the guy is running some sort of scam. Maybe he's a lookout for some gang of genetic thieves headquartered in the local gym, who knows. This town's certainly weird enough for it.

Yellow's not sleeping in this place again, that's for sure. Instead, he drags Pikachu down a path to his left, where he remembers following a bricked yellow trail several days ago. He finds it behind a row of boulders, bordered by a small pasture of wild grass.

Night has fallen completely, and Yellow considers settling down outside the meadow… but it occurs to him that this pilgrimage will never end unless he can capture and verify 150 distinct modular gene packets, and presumably archive the memes themselves in the Pokédex for future adaptation and implementation.

Perhaps it's time to get to work.

Yellow takes a shorter grip on the Pikachu's leash, and begins to creep slowly through the wild grass. Back and forth in a tightening circle, they skulk and search for wild mons. Surely an area like this is riddled with feral packet monsters; they're right outside a major settlement, and wild mons seem to hover at the edges of enclaves and communes like moths around candlelight. It takes a few passes, but eventually the Pikachu trips over their prey.

The Pikachu lets loose a hiss. Yellow activates his electric lantern, illuminating a large, spiny, mauve rabbit with a bony beak and chitinous growths spiking from its body in various places. The barbed hare emits a weak yelp as the Pikachu zaps the wild mon with a quick jolt from the electrocyte sacs in its cheeks.

The purple coney convulses, shaking and seizing as its hair chars and its muscles constrict violently. It catches fire, seizes up, collapses in a wet heap. The damage is too great; Yellow doubts that it would refabricate as a viable animal, even if he deconstructs it.

It then occurs to Yellow that he lacks the additional fabrication balls required to actually deconstruct and save the build data of a second mon. He needs more disposable fab units, more of the quick-healing solution… more supplies…

More experience. 

Yellow feels profoundly foolish. He sits on the cold ground, folds his legs from under him, and switches off the lantern. The Pikachu clambers onto his lap, still panting with exertion from the battle. The creature is warm against Yellow's chest; little zaps of static prickle his arms as he embraces the Pikachu and begins to cry again.

It's a moonless night, and a vast expanse of stars stretches brightly above the sobbing child's head. The world has never seemed so profoundly lonely as it does now to Yellow here and now, sitting in this strange field far from a home he can't return to, clinging to a genetically modified rat for relief against the cold and the dark of a night full of terrors.

The Pikachu, repulsive as it looks, is a calming presence to the boy. Yellow drifts to a fitful sleep under the Viridian stars, tossing and turning in the grass and the mud, warmed by his pet.

As dawn begins to break, Yellow rouses again. He feels… not better, exactly; in fact, he feels hollow inside. An empty sensation, drained and disheartened, but no longer paralyzed by his despair..

He can work with hollow. Yellow can do this.

He glances down at the Pikachu and amends that thought.

 _They_ can do this.

Dirty, greasy, and disheveled from both a night in the grass and days without bathing, Yellow makes his way back into Viridian proper. He walks past house after house, earning hostile looks from the few citizens awake early enough to mark his passage, and stomps straight through the sliding electric doors of the Pokémart.

Yellow marches up to the counter, makes firm eye contact with the nervous clerk who afflicted him with Oak's Parcel – was it really only four days ago? – and drops every cent to his name on the counter, around 3,175 pokéyen.

"Hi there!" the salesman chirps with an anxious crack to his voice. "May I help you?"

Yellow pushes the money forward, and indicates the cheapest model of single-use fabrication balls available.

The sales clerk follows Yellow's gaze. "Pokéball? That will be 3,000 for 15. Okay?"

Yellow nods.

"Here you are! Thank you! Is there anything else I can do?"

Yellow shakes his head curtly, collects his armful of fab units, and turns away from the counter. "Thank you!" the clerk calls again as Yellow exits the shop.

He wastes no time in escorting Pikachu back to the same field they passed the restless night in. Hopefully, all the feral mons that were scared off after the scrap last night have crept back into the area.

It's time to try again.

Yellow hardly has a chance to set foot in the area before one of those unnaturally rotund monkeys leaps from the vegetation and directs a vicious paw at the boy's head. The Pikachu intercepts the creature, leaping between the corpulent chimp and Yellow, baring its sharp incisors. Sparks fly threateningly from the Pikachu's cheeks, and it growls menacingly at the feral creature.

The apelike mon jabs out with one long, flexible arm and scratches Yellow's Pikachu viciously. Yellow calls out, cautioning his companion: "Just shock it a little, Pikachu! We need to catch one!"

The Pikachu electrocutes the round, white simian – and whether through cooperative intent or exhaustion, the bolt is less powerful that usual. The monkey takes a knee, shrieking in pain, and Yellow takes the opportunity to lob one of his new fabrication balls at the beast.

On contact with the mon, the orb splits open across its seam. A cloud of red nanobots flows from the opening, rapidly surrounding the wild mon. Yellow watches as the ball shakes once, twice, three times to confirm full scan – and the nano units begin the grisly work of disassembling the wounded packet monster. Line by line, hair by hair, the individual cells and components of the mon seem to glow and melt away as the cloud analyzes, maps and deconstructs the creature from the outside in. The red fog seeps insidiously inward, exposing muscle, strangely silhouetting organs, and revealing bone in a peculiarly bloodless manner - until finally, all that remains of the creature is a successfully-primed Pokéball and a small scorch mark in the grass.

Yellow can't help but fill a small thrill of elation as he strides over and claims the small fabricator. He removes Oak's Pokédex from his pocket, fumbles with the bus cord and port, and connects it to the newly-occupied ball.

An image of the mon, followed by text. flashes over the low-res LED screen built into Oak's sturdy red tablet:

NEW PACKET

ANALYSIS: AGILITY, ARBOREAL ADAPTATION MARKERS, INCLINATION TO TERRITORIALISM AND ATAVISTIC RAGE. NAME?

The cursor flashes invitingly just after 'name.' Yellow scratches his chin, glances at the Pikachu, and examines the rough 2D render of the packet monster he just deconstructed.

He taps the keyboard icon, types out MANKEY, and presses 'save.'


End file.
